


All the Variables

by Valeria2067



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Consent, M/M, Sexual Tension, unestablished relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/pseuds/Valeria2067
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has cataloged every sound John makes. This one is different. And why is the feeling of John's skin so fascinating? He needs more data.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Variables

Sherlock rapped impatiently on the door to John’s room.

“John. John! Get up. We’re late.”

For a moment, there was merely silence. 

Then, Sherlock heard something like a soft, low moan.

In his mind, Sherlock ran through the already extensive list of John’s sounds. It wasn’t sadness, not weeping (there had been one or two nightmares, Sherlock noted). It wasn’t one of the sexual noises John sometimes made during masturbation. However, Sherlock hadn’t heard John’s normal ‘activities’ the last night or this morning. Perhaps this was the sound he made when frustration was much stronger. It would be interesting to strategically interrupt John for three or four days in a row and then catalog the results…. 

He filed that thought away as another moan emanated from John’s room.

Louder, this time.  

Pain, then. 

Sherlock pushed open the door. John was on the bed, moving -writhing, almost- hugging his knees to his chest.

Stomachache. Most likely the curry they’d eaten last night. It had been authentic Thai, and Sherlock had carefully requested something fairly mild.  John, though, had asked for the “real” stuff, as he’d called it. John then proceeded to eat the entire dish as a point of honor.  ”I lived in Afghanistan, Sherlock. I’ve eaten a few things much more dangerous…and interesting…” John had raised one eyebrow at that, but then refused to clarify.

Now, John was paying the price for that culinary hubris.

Sherlock entered the room and sat down beside John on the bed. “How long like this?” he asked.

“Four hours. It was worse right before daybreak. Just… just give me a half-hour more, okay?”

Sherlock put a hand on John’s stomach. Warm. Rounded. He could feel the softness of the few extra pounds John had put on since being invalided home. Underneath that softness, though, was a layer of muscle, now taut from the pain.

Without even thinking, Sherlock slipped his hand underneath John’s shirt and began to rub in soft, slow circles.

John started to relax a bit.

“Thanks…,” he murmured. “Feels good…. A bit strange coming from you, though. Tenderness, I mean. Sure you feel all right?”

Sherlock’s lip twisted up in a half-smile. “I had a governess when I was little. She did this when I was unable to get back to sleep. It was the only thing that helped.”

John chuckled. “You had a governess? You and Mycroft? God. Poor woman.”

Sherlock didn’t reply. He was focusing on the sensation of John’s skin. It was…strangely pleasing against his fingers. So warm and soft. Fascinating. 

He started making the circles wider, firmer.

“Umm… Thanks, Sherlock. You don’t have to keep doing that any more…”

“Shhh. I have no use for a distracted assistant, and the case today requires two men. I need you attentive and healthy.”

Sherlock leaned down and put his lips on John’s skin.

John started to squirm. 

Sherlock placed his other hand on top of John’s chest, effectively immobilizing him. He blew softly against the skin of John’s stomach and saw, felt John tremble. Tenderly, reverently, he placed a kiss beside John’s navel.

“Sherlock, maybe this isn’t..”

Sherlock froze, then looked up into John’s eyes.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No.”

“Ah. Then are you ashamed?”

“Not about… No.”

“Then why shouldn’t I continue?”

John sighed, and dropped his head back onto the pillow.

“Because I like it, Sherlock. A lot. Too much. And I’d rather not get any more…,” he waved his hand vaguely in the direction of his lower half, “…than I already am, so let’s just leave it. You can wait until I’m feeling better before you make me into another one of your experiments.”

Sherlock removed the hand from John’s chest and moved it instead to the spot he’d just kissed. He thought he could feel something… something almost like mild electrical current… against his palms and his fingertips.

Interesting.

He pulled his hands away, and the sensation faded a bit, but it didn’t leave.

Sherlock frowned, then put his hands back.

John rose up on one elbow and took hold of one of Sherlock’s wrists. “I said, just stop. I’m sure you’ve deduced everything about me, so I won’t bother admitting what I feel, not like it would matter to you, anyway. There’s plenty of blokes out there willing to be your… lab partner… for something like this.  I can’t.  I just can’t, Sherlock, okay? It means something to me.”

This was… puzzling. John enjoyed sex and physical stimulation of many sorts. He’d had at least three dates that would qualify as ‘one night stands’ in the past two months, during the times when he wasn’t exclusively dating someone. 

So why should something like this be a problem?

“Is it sentiment, John?”

“Yeah. You could call it that.”

“Does this remind you of someone special to you? Do I remind you of such a person?”

John closed his eyes and swallowed. “Are you telling me, Sherlock Holmes, that you have no idea what I’m feeling right now?”

“I know what you are experiencing physically. That much is obvious. But if you mean something… emotional…, then, no.. I’m not certain I fully understand.”

John opened his eyes. They were wet, with pooled tears shining in the morning light. “Look at me, then. And think, damn you.”

This time, Sherlock did see. All the tiny signs, the details, flooded into his brain, clicking into place, re-arranging, clicking again.

“Oh,” Sherlock managed to whisper.

John let go of Sherlock’s wrist and then proceeded to collapse again onto the bed.

“Yeah,” he answered.

Sherlock stood up and slipped off his outer layers until he was in his shirtsleeves. “Move over, John.”

“Why? What are you doing?” There was a hint of panic in John’s voice. A hint of something quite different, too.

“I’m thinking,” Sherlock replied as he stretched out beside John on the bed. 

“Well, can you think somewhere else, please?” John asked. Sherlock noted that the tone of voice was far from decisive.

“No, John. I need to think about you, and you are here, so this is where I must think. Please be quiet.” He put an arm across John’s chest in an attempt to still him.

John took Sherlock’s arm and moved it aside and up. In a surprisingly fluid motion, he moved Sherlock’s other arm so that it was also above his dark, curly head. John was now on top of Sherlock, staring at him with wide, darkened eyes.

“John?”

“Shut up, Sherlock. I’m thinking.” John placed a soft kiss on Sherlock’s lips.

It was like fire. And cocaine. And strong, black coffee. And nearby lightening. And those Swiss chocolates he once stole from the parlour when his grandmother was visiting.

How could it be all of those things?

Kissing was… just kissing. Mostly Boring. Dull. He’d never cared for it particularly.

But this…

What in the hell was this?

John smiled down at him. “Now. What are your thoughts at the moment?”

God, if only his powers of speech could truly keep up with his brain. He’d rattle off a thousand different sensations, similes, deductions in the space of a minute. 

He didn’t, however.

He merely said, “I’m thinking… that I would like you to do that again, John.”

John moved his head down closer, but he stopped before their lips touched. “And what would you think, Sherlock, if I decided never to do that again? If one kiss satisfied my curiosity, and I moved on to bigger and better things? Hmm?”

Sherlock blinked, horrified.

“I’d hate it. I… I would forbid you. I wouldn’t allow it.” All of that came out before Sherlock could stop himself. Stupid. How would he possibly forbid John to stop kissing him?

“Ah. So you see my problem. I don’t want to be a one-time experiment for you, Sherlock Holmes. I want quite a bit more than that. Or I want nothing at all. And I don’t want to force it on you, either. And no, I won’t let you seduce me into temporary fling, so you can stop with the eyes and the lips…thing.

Eyes and lips?

“I’m not doing anything, John. I promise.”

“Really? Then stop wriggling under me.”

And he was. Wriggling underneath John. How was this happening? He couldn’t think correctly. Or rather, he could only think of one thing, and it was as clear as any scientific fact he’d ever observed.

“John… Please. I don’t want you to be just an experiment. And I don’t want you to leave. Ever. But I do need…”

John’s eyes were heavy-lidded, now. “What, Sherlock? What do you need?”

Sherlock’s breath stopped for a moment, and he focused his attention, his whole being, on John’s mouth.

“I need… more data. Much, much, much more data. From you. Only from you, John.” 

John kissed him again, gently. “Okay. I can accept that. But I want you to tell me everything you can afterword, understood? I want to know what’s buzzing around in that fantastic brain. And I want you to promise you’ll let me know to stop if there’s anything you don’t like. Deal?”

Sherlock couldn’t imagine wanting to John to stop. He certainly couldn’t imagine offering to stop, if he were the one in control. He wondered if John would call that a bit not good. He would ask John. Later. After.

“Yes. Now stop talking. I need you to kiss me. And I don’t want the kisses to end.”

Something changed, just slightly, in John’s eyes. They were damp again. 

A drop fell onto Sherlock’s cheek.

John kissed it away before looking back into Sherlock’s eyes.

“I hope, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, that they will never, ever end.”

And for the next half hour, and and hour after that, and several hours later that day, and for weeks and months and years, the kisses never, ever ended.


End file.
